


Something More

by orphan_account



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Baking, Commissioned fic, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, two comms and both were baking related..class
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-02
Updated: 2015-10-02
Packaged: 2018-04-24 09:40:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4914553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <span class="small">Birthdays were foreign things to Killua. It was Gon's aunt's birthday. The dynamic duo were assigned to the creation of the cake, and yet, the concept is just a little beyond the young Zoldyck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="small">Commissioned fic.</span>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something More

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Juuzouhelp @ Tumblr (2015)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Juuzouhelp+%40+Tumblr+%282015%29).



> slight revisions. no beta.   
>  so far positive feedback has been given.   
>  thanks for the short and sweet comments on tumblr!

It was Aunt Mito’s birthday.

Therefore, _intrinsically,_ they had to bake a cake.

At least, that had been Gon’s reasoning for it. Killua hadn’t been so certain of what was so positive about birthdays, lest celebrating one for someone in their deep middle ages, perhaps merely nearing it. The ex-assassin had decided Gon’s guardian had looked older than her age, worn down through years of worry. But, Killua had also regarded she did more than a good job of raising Gon-- Gon just wasn’t the easiest nut in the tree to crack. If Killua hadn’t already adorned a head of silver, he was convinced that streaks of grey hair would already be a prominent piece of his outward appearance. Gon was capable of producing that amount of worry in anyone.

Birthdays were a year closer to death.

Maybe Killua was just unenthusiastic and pessimistic enough to think so, yet he acknowledged the optimistic pride in living a year longer. Another year of life, another year with your loved ones; that train of thought made him feel bitter, still not having expanded his relationship-oriented horizons beyond his best friend and sister, Kurapika and Leorio, and his acquaintances by extension; friends that Gon had made that Killua felt, in part, connected to, through the exuberant island child.

Aunt Mito had gone out with the eldest Freecss family member, merely as a distraction while Gon and Killua occupied the kitchen, throwing together mixtures that the taller of the young teens wasn’t sure actually _went_ inside cakes. He’d never baked one himself, he just knew things like flour and salt weren’t exactly the sweet ingredients he thought he was tasting whenever he consumed the baked treat.

Killua glanced upward at the clock on the kitchen wall, and reasoned they had a limited amount of time until Mito returned, and a sigh escaped his lips before he could really stop and think about the implications of his action.

They’d never celebrated his birthday before. His family, that is. The mighty Zoldyck assassins that perched precariously on the edge of Kukuroo mountain, with enough money and land to accommodate the family for decades to come, regardless if the family business continued on. There was more than enough space to allocate toward an extravagant bash to commemorate the life and inevitable demise of one another, but not once had Killua’s family ever stepped forward and actually gone as far as to buy a gift for Killua on the anniversary of his nativity, let alone to take him into the kitchen and bake a cake for the lone purpose of extraveganza.

Besides, Zoldycks seemed to live forever, Killua had notioned, and therefore it somehow rendered the idea of celebrating void; obsolete.

Killua sat in a chair, watching Gon as he flitted around the countertops, apron rustling as he worked. Gon was, surprisingly, a well versed baker, at least enough to make a simple cake and some frosting to top it off. He was upbeat, bouncing from oven to sink to ingredients, concentration twisting his visage and tongue peeking out the corner of his lips just barely. Killua rested his elbow against the table, chin in hand. He waited to be called over, not necessarily sure if he should interrupt Gon in his moment. He didn’t want to risk, _like,_ throwing Gon’s train of thought off; didn’t want to mess up his focus. Despite both of the two being assigned to the task of creating the dreamy delicacy, Killua had already decided it was better off Gon’s hands and would just fill in where requested.

Well, it’s not like he could say he hasn’t done _anything._ He had pitched the idea that they make the cake a deep chocolate, with strawberries. Gon proposed whip cream frosting, Killua closely agreeing that it was a good addendum to the mix.

However, his daze of watching Gon work-- memorising the way he danced from step to step, the way he made it like a _game_ \--had left Killua vulnerable and out of sync with his surrounding, and he almost missed the finger that beckoned him to participate, and he rubbed at his face with the hand there, thinking it would wipe away the astonishment and embarrassment at having been so unattentive. Shifting upward, Killua stood and proceeded to the middle of the kitchen to join Gon, hands rightfully planted on his hips, ready to receive orders.

“Killua needs an apron,” Was the first thing that Gon said, whether to him or to contribute to the general atmosphere he did not know, fishing out a second piece of white cloth and throwing it at the ex-assassin. Killua promptly began to shrug it on haphazardly, leaving the back untied and letting it hang limp before him. The action received a tsk from Gon, who spared him of a lecture, but not from the physical fixing of the problem, as Gon circled Killua to fix the apron.

Killua’s hand dipped into some flour spilt upon the countertop, and when Gon’s silent scolding of his sloppy behaviour reeled him in close enough, a slender finger wiped the white powder across a tanned and freckled cheek, catching Gon completely off guard in his disorient of moving his attention from so many different things to one. Killua suddenly had a bashfulness wash over his mind, realising that Gon was focused only on him, and he hid the expression with a sly smirk, drinking in the sight of the stark contrast of white against Gon’s skin as it only drew out the colour of his eyes, a golden deep as honey with flecks of gamboge where the light reflected, refracted.

Killua swallowed and looked away from the deep pout that formed on Gon’s face.

“ _Killua,_ that isn’t fair!” Gon whined, hand waving exasperatedly, emphatically. “Even if threw flour back it wouldn’t show up, Killua is too white!” Similarly, Gon tacked on how Aunt Mito would feel stressed walking in the kitchen to find powder on everything, and started rambling about how annoying it was to clean up because it clumped, and it spread thin, and it got caked in the cracks of the tiles…

Killua focused more on the idea of Gon talking rather than listening to the recounting of the _Incredulous Dangers of Flour,_ novel by Gon Freecss. Killua watched as he did, following the movement of his mouth that was in sync with his gestures.

He smirked, taking it as victory, one little thing at a time, in stride.

Gon stationed him at mixing afterward, commenting that Killua was much better for something like that. Killua’s muscles were lean, and his motions were strong, yet languid, which was better for breaking up globs of dry ingredient in the cake batter. Gon was convinced that his friend would provide the “best mixing experience possible,” and would give them the smoothest batter, respectively. Meanwhile, Gon focused his efforts into the frosting, and as they worked a comfortable silence fell over the kitchen space.

By the time the cake is poured into the pan and shoved in the oven, Gon patted Killua a “good job, well done,” and set the timer.

Killua couldn’t help himself. The chocolate mixture remaining in the bowl was sweet and tantalising as a Chocorobo itself. It sat abandoned on the countertop, begging for some entrepreneur of the confectionary fashion to seize and devour the remaining sugary concoction. Killua figured he might as well take it upon himself to exhaust the resource, taking the spoon from the bowl and licking it as nonchalantly as his chocolate-induced haze would allow.

Gon spun on his heels in that moment, elbow bumping into the other boy. Killua’s arm jerked awkwardly, sticky spatula sliding against his nose, leaving a brown, pudding-like substance in its wake. Gon stared at the other, stock still like a deer caught in headlights, and before he can squeeze out an apology, Killua’s arm is already reaching for the bowl. No matter how much they trained together, in speed Killua always seemed to have the advantage. His chocolatey finger was darting out to Gon in the next second, smearing along with the white of the flour that Gon hadn’t bothered to clean off, and then resumed licking the spoon clean.

Gon’s voice cuts into Killua in a way that made the boy’s pale skin peach up in heat, like he’d been pinched in the face. “Now it’s even, at least! Killua’s skin is more white-- well, it’s pink now, and pretty,” His idea was derailed, but the islander did a quick volte-face and halted Killua’s grimace and complaints before they started. “Anyway, this is easier to see than flour!” The more stubborn of the duo tilted his head up, examining his handiwork, completely unabashed at who was more messy, and rather what showed up where the most.

Killua’s lips parted in disdain, then closed. He looked like a floundering fish. A gross, flopping, scaly creature, ripped right from its watery home and left to drown in air. His heart raced at the thought of Gon admiring his skin, feeling warmth pool in the apple of his cheeks. The simple implication of the word “pretty” left Killua to think that it would be better suited to Alluka, or even someone like Kurapika. Besides, Killua was a _man,_ dammit. Men by some unspoken social law couldn’t be pretty, right?

Well. He felt that, perhaps, it was okay. Since it was Gon.

Gon was rather pretty too, he thought.

However, Killua’s pride was seemingly at stake. He flung the spoon toward Gon in physical response to the comment, with a grip that kept the wood in his hand, but allowed the goopy mixture to slide off in the general direction Gon stood. It splattered, and the shorter jumped at the contact it made with his skin.

It definitely was not as visible as the flour, which makes Killua’s grimace deepen.

Gon’s hands lifted in apology, or perhaps surrender, wondering if he’d pushed Killua too far this time, over the line. Instead of his usual acquiescence to submission, Killua’s hand dipped into spilt flower, bringing it back up to smack at Gon, leaving a bright white handprint on the side of his black undershirt. Gon instinctively snagged the bowl of chocolate away, faster than reflex, now deciding that Killua’s actions were a declaration of war. His fingers coated themselves in the dark sweet, flicking it outward at Killua, much like had been done toward him with the spatula. He ducked down and out of the way, and Killua followed suit, the two of them laughing hysterically, tossing convivial threats at one another, making a bigger mess of the kitchen and each other.

They continued like that for a while until the beeping of the oven signalled their end. It reeled them back into reality, realising that they were going to face the wrath of Mito for the current stature of the room, and that if they didn’t act quick the cake would burn.

Killua nagged Gon as he turned to open the oven, mittens on hand.

“Don’t let it touch your skin, don’t hold it too close, watch your arms--”

“Killua sounds like Kurapika now,” Gon threw back. “I might be an idiot but I’m not _careless._ ”

Killua looked aghast at being compared to the Kurta, “You are the very definition of careless, Gon.”

“Not when I’m baking!”

Their last spout ended after Gon carefully and slowly removed the cake, much to his chagrin. The boy shook with the slow pace Killua had set for him, setting the pastry aside, waiting for it to cool. Killua almost slathered the frosting on himself, but Gon nearly tackled him with the complaint that if they frosted it now then it would melt all over.

They both picked up a washrag of their own, situating at the counter and facing each other.

Gon exhaled loudly, “I got the cake everywhere, huh.” They smeared the aftermath of their mess around each other’s faces, but Killua’s touch (despite his soft skin and lean fingers) was much more rough than Gon’s own stubby and muscular digits, ones that worked softly at Killua’s skin. He handled the other with care and delicacy, savouring the moment as he wiped streaks of batter around in small circles and arcs. “I had fun.”

Killua hummed in agreement. “Think your aunt will like the cake?”

“Of course!” Gon replied with buoyancy, causing Killua to press a little harder, pinching his freckled cheek between two fingers, muttering something about _staying still._

After cleaning up, they frosted the cake, setting it out on the dining room table. Gon cut strawberries into small pieces, spelling out “MITO!” while Killua had bordered the top with strawberries, just so that when they cut in he would be positive that he’d get enough strawberries to eat. When Gon’s aunt had come home, the boys hid their sheepish looks of guilt, knowing earlier they’d made a mess, and stood in front of their creation together, watching as Mito carefully assessed the situation, warm and welcoming smile spreading across her face.

She took both the boys into a hug, one Killua wasn’t expecting or entirely comfortable with initially. Though, as Gon wrapped his arms back around both of them, Killua made the effort to return the gesture, patting a little at her back and letting his other arm loop over Gon’s shoulders. He bookmarked the warmth that overwhelmed him, saving the safety he felt that came with having family for later. Perchance he’d pull it out on a rainy day, or he hoped it’d at least chase away any of the smoke and mirrors that lingered in his mind in the black of night. It felt nice to fill himself with the strength and love of a family, something he was just discovering for himself now.

“We hope it’s good, Mito.” Killua threw out in casual diffidence, hand rubbing the back of his head and threading through his silver locks with tentative thought. Gon’s voice was, in juxtaposition, smooth, energetic and cheerful, and proud of himself, and Killua. As always.

“Mm! It was made with _extra_ love!”

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted on tumblr.   
>  i pay more attention to tumblr than this, so, if you liked it, reblog it, mayhaps.
> 
> [**Something More** | _lnterplay_ on Tumblr](http://lnterplay.tumblr.com/post/130283884595) // [**commission information**](http://kinkypika.tumblr.com/post/129392149894)


End file.
